


Steel and Fire

by ardentlyThieving



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Also there just isn't enough content with these two, Arthur drinks a lot and it's Really. Not. Good, Elder Maxson centric, Gen, He's also a bit of a dick, I mean he has a good excuse, I saw this really really good fanart and had to write a drabble based on it, Now With A Second Chapter, These kids have problems, Which sucks because I love them, and POV, but hopefully they can work through them together, but still, especially to his younger self, hopefully, the guy seriously needs to stop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentlyThieving/pseuds/ardentlyThieving
Summary: Elder Arthur Maxson is visited on the Prydwen by the Ghost of Christmas Past and a woman he thought was gone forever.





	1. I'll come back when you call me

The boy was watching him again. Arthur Maxson didn’t even need to turn away from his terminal to know that those tear-filled blue eyes were staring reproachfully at the back of his head. He hissed under his breath as his fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping out the next sentence of the report he had been trying to finish all afternoon. There was an open bottle of whiskey temptingly close to his terminal. Giving in, he poured himself a glass with one hand, as his other deleted the most recent sentence. As he gulped down the glass he snuck a peak over his shoulder in the hopes that the boy had finally left. No such luck. Damn it all.

Arthur could still faintly remember a book he had read once, as a child, about a man who was visited by three ghosts. But despite the fact that everything he had done, he had done for the Brotherhood he had apparently gained his own Ghost of Christmas Past. The squire - maybe boy wasn’t the most appropriate term, but there was no way he was going to call him Arthur - had first visited him back when he was a Paladin, before he had even become Elder. He had been out with his squad, a simple recon mission, when one of his Knights had opened fire on a small group of ghouls running towards them. Completely understandable, except for the fact that the ghouls hadn’t even been feral, had been running to the armored soldiers to beg for help fighting off some raiders. And Arthur, youngest in the team and still new to having any sort of power, had been cowed by the expressions of men and women twice his age into not issuing any kind of reprimand. The Squire had only appeared for a few seconds, and it had only been a look of disbelief not reproach, but it was enough to make the young Paladin feel sick to his stomach. From that day onward the Squire appeared more and more often, and looked more and more heartbroken and confused each time.

Today was the most recent visit. Arthur had stood on the command deck, addressing his finest soldiers. They already knew their mission in the Commonwealth, most had even volunteered for it, so he had spoken to inspire and raise morale rather than impart information. At the end of it the young Elder stood tall, his eyes proudly surveying his troops and adrenaline running through his veins, when he felt a presence next to him and heard a quiet voice plaintively ask “But what about Charon? And Fawkes? A-are they bad too?”

A sour taste filled his mouth then, and it was a struggle to not let the conflict he suddenly felt show on his face. Fortunately Paladin Danse had stepped forward then and distracted him with a new recruit - a valuable asset if Danse was correct. The first thing he saw was a vault suit. For a moment he felt as if someone had shot him in the chest, before he actually looked at the stranger and saw that they were too tall, and probably too old as well, and the number was all wrong; and besides all that, they were a man and then Arthur felt intensely disappointed. 

Somehow he had gotten through all that, and assigned the stranger with a mission to Fort Strong. He waited on the command deck for a while after the Paladin and Knight left, hoping the Squire would leave as well. Unfortunately for him, the Squire seemed determined to stick around, so he growled and stormed off to his quarters and the waiting reports.

Now their eyes met. Arthur gave the Squire his Look. The Look was famed for its ability to scare even the most stubborn Scribe or battle-hardened Paladin into submission. On occasion it even worked on Lancer-Captain Kells. The Squire proceeded to burst into tears, but still showed no sign of leaving. Arthur groaned, snatching up the whiskey bottle and starting to drink directly from it. At this point he knew he would be nursing a hangover the next morning, but really couldn’t bring himself to care.

“What happened to you!” 

Arthur’s head shot up. He slammed the bottle down on the table, nearly breaking it as he rose from his seat, the Look morphing into a full death glare. The Squire refused to give any ground even as the Elder loomed over him. Arthur’s eyes burned, but his voice was deathly calm as he spat out the words. “They all broke their promises, Squire. All of them. My- Your- Our parents promised to take us back, and then they died! Owyn promised to keep us out of this position until we were ready for it, and then he died! Sarah promised to keep us safe, and. Then. She. Died. All of them, gone.”

The younger Arthur glared back defiantly. “But what about Quinn?” His voice began to wobble. “D-did she d-die too?”

Arthur wasn’t even aware of his hand moving until it had crashed down onto the table. “I wish she had! But she doesn’t even get that excuse. She promised to always come back, but then she disappeared in the night after Sarah died, and she never even said goodbye, and she never came back and she left me all alone, and - and.” He slowly collapsed onto his bed, now forcing back tears himself. “She promised that she would always come back, but she never did.”

At some point he must’ve fallen asleep, because when he next opened his eyes his younger self was gone and a quick glance at the time showed him that it was already 0700. Stretching out, he stood and slowly walked back to his computer where he quickly finished off the report from the night before and sent it over to Quinlan. His eyes fell on the open bottle that still stood on the table. He picked it up, screwed the lid back on and dropped it on the trash before leaving to take his customary position on the command deck.

He stood there for a while, gazing over the Commonwealth with his hands behind his back, when a quiet cough from behind him shook him from his thoughts. He turned, customary scowl on his face, to address the nervous looking Initiate. “Sir- I mean Elder- I mean,” the Initiate swallowed the lump in their throat and tried again. “There’s a woman here to see you. Says she’s from the Independent State of New Vegas. She’s in the airport, Sir. I was sent to ask for permission for her to come on-board.”

“Tell them to let her on,” he replied, irritably dismissing the Initiate with a wave of his hand, before turning back to the window. His hands rested on the rail as he waited for his mysterious visitor.

It was only a few moments later that he heard the unmistakable sound of someone entering the command deck. Keeping his tone light - or as light as he was capable of - he addressed them. “Welcome to the Prydwen, Miss...”

“Archer.” His hands tightened on the rail, his knees feeling suddenly weak. That voice, he knew who that voice belonged to, and he had hoped with every part of him, but had stopped believing that he would ever..

“Quinn Archer.”

Somehow he forced himself to let go of the railing, forced himself to remain standing as he turned. She was older than he remembered - of course she was, it had been years; shorter than he remembered - or he was just a lot taller than he had been the last time he had seen her; and she held herself more confidently, but it was her. Quinn Archer. The Lone Wanderer.

Steely blue eyes, now wide with shock, met softer green ones. He didn’t know how he looked, but it must have been terrible, because her own eyes widened then, and softened further.

“Arthur. I’m so sorry.”


	2. No need to say goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much needed conversation finally happens.

She has no right, Arthur decides. She has no right to just disappear one night and then reappear years later, without a word of warning in either case. He’s surprised at just how much hurt there is wrapped up in that one thought, and so he squashes it down: both because he doesn’t want to show weakness - not here on his command deck, and because he doesn’t want to ruin this one amazing moment when someone has finally come back for him. The only thing preventing this moment from being absolutely perfect is the fact that Sarah Lyons is still dead and buried back in DC. Still, he’s not going to let that thought, or any other thoughts, ruin this.

 

An awkward silence hangs in the air. The eyebot hovering over her shoulder beeps impatiently. He watches her shush it. She speaks to it like it’s a child - a human child - with clear affection mixed with the irritation in her voice. Arthur Maxson, Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, can’t quite believe that he’s jealous of a tiny floating robot, but nonetheless jealousy is what finally boosts his courage and prompts him to speak. “I’m surprised to see you in the Commonwealth, of all places.” The words feel far more awkward than they sounded in his head, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed, so he chalks it up to nerves.

 

“Well you see, I’m here representing New Vegas in an official capacity. The King figured this would be the best use of my ‘charming personality and incredible good luck’. My words, not his.” A small, petty, part of him is pleased that her attention has turned from the eyebot to him. A larger part is confused by what she has just told him.

 

“Vegas is a monarchy?” The radio silence from the Mojave bunker means he doesn’t have much intel available on current affairs in Vegas, but what little he does have seemed to point towards a democracy.

 

She chuckles, and he’s reassured by the fact that her laugh still sounds the same as he remembers. “No, that’s his name. I mean, probably not his actual name, because no one’s parents are that terrible. But it’s what he calls himself, and it’s the only thing anyone knows him as. But me and The King aren’t the only ones who’ve moved up in the world over the past 10 years, are we? You were just a Squire when I left, about so tall,” she gestures with her hand,” and utterly adorable. And now we meet again and you’re not only taller than me, you look older than I do as well. Damn Arthur, what happened to you?” 

 

Her tone is light, but with something genuinely sad behind it, and that sadness mixed with the shock of her unknowingly quoting his younger self means that his voice cracks when he replies. “You would know if you had stayed.”

 

He means to keep it light and joking, but he sounds more like either a petulant child or one who is about to break down into tears. Sympathy floods her features as she steps towards him, her voice soft. “Oh. Arthur I’m so sorry, I-”

 

He cuts her off, no longer caring whether their reunion is happy or not. “Sorry doesn’t change a damn thing. Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you left the Brotherhood, that you left me.” That last word sounds uncomfortably like a child’s plea to his ears, so he makes sure his voice is cold and hard when he continues. “You can either give me a damn good explanation for leaving and never once contacting the Brotherhood before now, or you have fifteen minutes to get off my ship before I exile you, Sentinel Archer.” As soon as he issues his ultimatum he wants to take it back; as soon as he uses her title he regrets it. But he stands his ground, unwilling to back down, even as a tense silence hangs in the air.

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

“Then perhaps you should tell it in my quarters.” He doesn’t care how that sounds. He wants to get out of sight of his crew and he wants alcohol, not necessarily in that order. He half storms from the room, giving up on storming as soon as he is forced to climb the metal ladder to the main deck of the Prydwen. 

 

His quarters are blessedly close to the ladder. Without pausing he shoves open the door, enters the room and scoops up a full bottle, pouring himself a glass without bothering to check the label. He takes the bottle and glass and sits down at the table. “Close the door and take a seat, Sentinel.”

 

She does so, sitting opposite him. There’s something he can’t quite identify in her eyes as she looks between him, the bottle, and the rest of the bottles still on his desk. He ignores it - what right does she have to judge him - and brings the glass to his lips, his eyes fixed on her face as he motions with his hand for her to begin her story.

 

“Sarah wasn’t just a close friend, Arthur. She was my girlfriend.” Arthur’s eyes widen and he splutters a little on his drink out of shock. “We were in love, planning on getting married sometime in the future. The day she left,” he doesn’t need her to explain what day that was, “was our one year anniversary. She pushed back the mission so we could spend it together.” There’s pain in her eyes, the kind that never quite goes away, no matter how long you live. “I remember, as she was preparing to leave, we were discussing how when she got back we would tell everyone, make sure the whole Citadel knew. Then ten days later they bring back her body.”

 

She paused and cleared her throat before continuing. “I lost my father and the woman I loved because of their involvement with the Brotherhood, or at least it felt that way at the time. Still does if I’m completely honest. I just, couldn’t bear to stay, so I left. Knew they’d try to stop me, so I snuck out at night. I wandered for a while before finally making it to the Mojave, where I worked as a courier. Then I get shot in the head and wake up with amnesia and by the time I get my memories back I’m caught up between the NCR and the Legion. Was planning on coming back after Hoover Dam, but sadly I just had to work towards Vegas’ independence so I got stuck dealing with that for a while. Finally I get the chance to head back to DC when I hear that the Brotherhood is in Boston so I hoped to catch a lift with them for the last stretch of the journey. Of course, that’s not going to be an issue now.” She leaned back in the chair as she finished her story, eyes meeting his. “I shouldn’t have left DC, but I couldn’t stay.”

 

For his part, Arthur is frozen in place. He understands why she left, but at the same time he still feels hurt and he’s been so alone and so unsure and if she had to leave, “Why didn’t you take me with you?” His voice is small and quiet and he feels very small and young and unsure. A memory, rising unbidden in his mind, of clutching at his mother, tears welling up in his eyes, ‘why do I have to go, mama? I’ll be good, I promise, just don’t make me go away’.

 

Child Arthur is crying in his memory, and adult Arthur stands and takes one shaky step before collapsing into a heap on the ground, crying himself. But while child Arthur is told to stop crying and to go with the Paladins, adult Arthur is suddenly aware of a warm pair of arms doing their best to wrap around him. Quinn hugged him the day before she left, before they even knew Sarah was dead, and that was the last time anyone ever hugged him for all those years between then and now, and that thought makes him start crying even harder. 

 

They remain like that for a while: Arthur crying, Quinn holding him, the eyebot - he forgot about the eyebot - hovering overhead and making distressed beeps at the pair on the floor. Eventually he runs out of tears, and something tightens in his stomach as he waits for her to pull away. But she doesn’t, and he relaxes again and they remain there in silence, the beeping stopped, for a few more moments.

 

“This was a lot easier when you were younger. And smaller,” Quinn mutters under her breath, and Arthur can’t help laughing, although it isn’t that funny of a remark. He doesn’t know when he last laughed either, and that thought is almost enough to make him start crying again, but then Quinn starts laughing as well, which makes him laugh harder. 

 

“I mean really. You’re nine years younger than me, you shouldn’t be over a foot taller than I am.” Her tone is light and teasing and so he responds in kind.

 

“Eight and a half years.” It’s their old joke, and something about it makes him feel happier and more relaxed than he has since before she left. He’s an adult now, old enough to know that things aren’t going to magically go back to the way they were before. Old enough to know that sorry, a hug and laughing together on the floor doesn’t mean that none of the past eight years happened. But somehow that doesn’t matter, because finally Elder Arthur Maxson is no longer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure whether I want to keep this as a two-parter or continue it. Either way, I hope you enjoyed. As always, reviews and comments are very welcome. - Ardently out!

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, my first fanfic. And it's about Fallout, which I wasn't really expecting. Any sort of constructive criticism is welcome, especially on the characterization as it's what I'm least sure about. I mean, sometimes you see an amazing piece of art and just have to write what you think the story behind it is. Anyways, Ardently out!


End file.
